Africa is beautiful. When people ask me about my trip, my reply is, “It was heartbreaking and hopeful.”

Wild animals roam freely (like the baboon that jumped out of the tree and stole a sugar packet from the breakfast table at our hotel!) The Compassion Kenya staff laughed at us when we asked them to pull the van off the road, so we could photograph a herd of wild zebras. (They laughed harder when I squealed and pointed like a girl at the zoo).

One of the most amazing sites was a herd of elephants near the road.

We were told by one of our Kenyan friends that elephants love each other deeply. If one of their own dies, the other elephants mourn the loss. They grieve and can be heard crying for miles. Mother elephants are distraught over the deaths of their babies. They honor the dead by trying to bury the body with branches and leaves, so it won’t be destroyed by other animals.

Elephants seek out the lost and even in death, they honor them by collecting the bones of the dead and place them in an elephant graveyard. Each year, around the same time, the elephants travel back to this place to mourn.

Simply put, they remember…. so they won’t forget.

They remember the death and the time of pain. They weep for the lost. Then they carry on, but they do not forget.

This week has been a time of remembering for me. I have been reading the posts from the Compassion Guatemala Blogger Team and so much of what I felt and experienced has come back in soulful rush of emotion. I have wept for the lost and rejoiced with those found.

Ann has one line in this amazing post that rocked me to the core: “Once we have seen [poverty], we are responsible–we will respond. One way or the other.”

I’ve been out of Africa for six months. My response is coming Monday (Love Mercy). I pray you will take this prophetic word and respond with me. One way or the other.

I did more than snap pictures of wild animals in Africa; I learned from these great beautiful beasts.

When I first started birthing babes, I was shocked at how hard it was to juggle everything.

I’m not just talking about play dates, housework and school projects.

I mean literally, juggling a diaper bag, a 100-pound baby carrier, not including a baby who’s thighs resemble a small Sumo wrestler, a purse, all while trying to keep your two year old from scraping gum off the concrete.

I’ve always thought that with the title Mother, we should also grow an extra appendage or two. Because, seriously, an extra arm would come in handy when I’m stirring dinner, loading the dishwasher, calling out multiplication facts, stepping over the mock kitchen my toddler has created underfoot, and paying bills online-simultaneously.

In one day, I accomplish more than some small companies. Heck, I am a small company.

I’ve spent a combined total of nearly 40 hours in labor, delivering more than 20 pounds of human.

And I’ll be honest, when someone has the nerve to ask me in a tone, “What do you do all day?”

I’ve decided this will be my forever answer:

“I’m a Mom. What’s your superpower?”

Mothering is a labor of love!

(Tell me how much time in labor and combined birth weights you’ve had in the comment section)

I hurried and dressed quickly to get to the church early. I couldn’t afford to run late since I was leading the children’s program that morning. I quickly grabbed a pair of pants off the top of a stack, not remembering that the pile was supposed to go to the cleaner’s weeks before for repair.

That was my first mistake.

I got there just in time to open the classrooms and double check the list of workers. Kids filled the classrooms and I remembered I’d left my notebook in the worship pastor’s office. I slipped in quietly while he was on the phone and pointed to my pile of stuff. He nodded and I squatted to get my things.

HI! I'm Kristen. I'm here to encourage you as a wife and mom and remind you there's a little bit of THAT family in all of us. I write books, run Mercy House and try to remember I am third (God first, others second). I'm glad you're here.